


Phonies

by homenumrevelio



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Demons, Gen, Hunter Kevin, Kevin Lives, Liars and Hunters, Medicine, Secrets, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homenumrevelio/pseuds/homenumrevelio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Main character is Lane Austin, who has an anxiety disorder. Her father was in the army for a very long time, and when he returns home to find that she takes medication for her anxiety he flips out, and takes her medicine away, claiming that anxiety is a made up condition and that she didn't need medication. Having been off of her meds for months, Lane gets into a fight with her father and steals one of her father's guns, intending to commit suicide in a nearby alley. While on her way there, she sees a fight in her favourite restaurant, and goes in to check it out, only to piss off a very powerful demon.<br/>Kevin Tran is a hunter, who happens to be hunting this demon, and rescues her, unaware that she would rather not be saved.<br/>The two become an unlikely pair as she decides to take up hunting with him. Not that he really had a choice in letting her come along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phonies

**Author's Note:**

> I guess there should be a bit of a trigger warning? The main character does have an anxiety disorder and does tend to have suicidal thoughts.  
> I really don't have much to say...  
> Hi? People are reading this?? Enjoy Chapter One~

_Ice._

There was ice in her veins. It was ice  _in_  her veins, and it was creeping into her heart. Lane’s eyes filled with tears, and she was surprised that it was even possible. She couldn’t imagine being this cold, so cold that she was burning alive, and still being able to produce something so fluid and liquid.

Blood was pouring into her mouth from her cheek, flowing from a cut from her teeth which were biting down on it to hold back screams.

This wasn’t what she’d wanted.

The gun was right there. An inch from her hand. That’s all she wanted.  _Out._  She’d wanted to go out with a bang; Lane had wanted quick and over. Never in a million years had she thought of this.

The gun was so close. Now it was less than an inch from her hand. If she could just reach it. But it was no use. This wasn’t ending on her terms, which was probably the cruelest thing of all. She hadn’t gotten to live on her terms, and now she was going to die on someone else’s as well. That was a pain almost as palpable as the ice in her veins.

Her heart was struggling to pump the small amount of liquid through her veins, and she could feel the icy cold reaching into the small, trivial organ. This was it. She would finally be gone. That’s what she’d wanted.

Lane hadn’t even realized that her eyes had been squeezed shut until she opened them.

Her breath came in labored and inconsistent gasps as she looked at the source of this damned ice.  _Winters._  What a great ironic name. _Paul Winters._  What a terrific name for a man of ice, ironic in it’s biblical origin. There was no way this man, with eyes blacker than coal, was a man of God. Those eyes had no iris or pupil, no whites; all that was present was darkness, and a hellish abyss. She could fall into eyes like that forever.

But it wouldn’t bring her what she’d been craving for months now. Peace. There was no peace in these black, abysmal eyes. Only the promise of more pain.

There was no holding it in anymore. A scream burst out of her mouth, agony encrypted in the shrill, blood-curdling sound. Her eyes rolled back, and she was sure that it was over. That, however twisted any of this was, she was getting what she’d wanted in the first place. An end. To this pain, this suffering, this life.

Death. It was the promise she’d been reaching for when she’d intended to pick up the gun.

But it stopped. The ice stopped. She hadn’t realized that her eyes had closed again, and she fell, weak, to the floor. Was there no end to this torment? No end to this life? That’s all she’d wanted.

It was on the table. Out of her reach now. Lane was positive there was no way to lift her limp arms and pick it up.

But she tried. There was no way she’d let this happen again. Whatever it was — whatever  _Winters_  was — there was no way she was going to let  _it_  do that again. If she’d thought she couldn’t handle life before, she had never been more certain of that than she was right now.

But her arm wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t lifting; the muscle only ached in response to her brain's commands. The thoughts racing through her head were making everything so much worse, and she was having trouble remembering exactly how she’d wound up here. Alone. In an empty restaurant. With Mr. Creepy himself, _Mr. Paul Winters._

The fight. The big falling out. It felt like it was a century ago, and she couldn’t believe that it had ever been so important to her. All she’d known after it was that gun — was it closer now, or was she going insane? — was her ticket out of her problems, and out of here. And that's all she could think of now.

She’d intended to go to the alley next door, but she’d seen something. It had looked like something was going on in the building, and Lane, in a last second act of heroism, just  _had_  to try to help the owner of this stupid Italian restaurant.

It’s not like it should’ve mattered to her anyway. She would be dead by the morning regardless of whether or not the Ravioli family - their real last name was Castellano but it didn't really matter - survived the night. She wouldn’t be around to see the effects of her “heroic” actions. Plus, she’d wind up a martyr. That’d make her father see, but now it was too late. She’d been reduced to nothing more than a limp frame.

Her shame was increasing with every second, but at least the cold was gone. Shivers were running down her spine, contradicting the warmth that was slowly beginning to fill her body, and the hot blood that was now pushing out of her mouth, trailing down her chin and dripping onto her shirt.  _Dammit, that’s a new shirt._

She chastised herself. Did it matter that she’d gotten this yesterday? Still, she’d wanted to die in it; she just didn't want it to be ruined. It made more sense when she didn’t think too hard about it.

It came to her attention that she’d been left alone for too long. There was no way Winters would have left her alone again.

Her eyes were closed. How did that keep happening before she could stop it? How did she not notice?

Peeling her eyelids apart solicited a groan of pain, and the light was so bright on her feeble, light colored eyes that she whimpered. God, she was pathetic. That was one thing she'd always hated about herself.

It was hard to make out anything concrete in the overwhelming brightness. There were two figures she realized, and that was when she noticed that she should be hearing noises. The way they moved it looked like an expertly choreographed dance, and she noticed that they were fighting. Shouldn’t there be grunts? What about the sound of kicks landing on hard and muscled bodies? She’d watched fights before, on TV. Her father was big on mixed martial arts.

Thinking of her father evoked another involuntary whine.

Something hit her and her ears were filled with the most disgusting sound. Then she realized it was her own voice, her own damned scream that filled her ears and rendered her incapable of moving, not that she’d had excellent mobility up to that point.

Her eyes snapped shut; her senses were incapable of handling both the intensity of the light and the pain of whatever had touched her at the same time.

Lane struggled against her jaw, fighting to keep the scream in, and when it finally responded, it snapped down on her lip. Her lip split, and she felt more blood on her chin. This was humiliating. It felt like she wasn’t capable of doing anything right. She couldn’t even walk into a freaking restaurant to check on an apparent fight without getting herself into a life-or-death situation.

Earlier today, she’d been certain that nothing could make her life worse, but here she was, howling in pain and incapable of moving without tears stinging her eyes. There was no way to think of anything other than the pain, and her entire head hurt from trying to keep things straight.

With a gasp, Lane’s eyes burst open, and she saw a figure standing in the light. There was only one figure now, at least that she could see. She didn’t know what was going on anymore, not that she’d been too sure before.

Her vision was clouded, and she could only make out a silhouette.

It looked like a man. No, not a man. A boy. Maybe her age.  _Maybe older._

She blinked her eyes tightly, trying to clear her vision, and she lifted her head off of the ground to get a closer look. It took too much effort, and she wasn’t able to make out anything more than she had before.

Her neck was sore, and her head nearly fell right back to the ground. In reality, her head hovered only an inch above the ground, but it felt like she had lifted it at least a half a foot.

The figure moved closer to her, and it was still hard to make anything out about her savior. Was he even a savior? Or was it Winters again?

She examined his stature. No, he wasn’t Winters. He was shorter than the creepy man. She couldn’t make out a face or anything distinct about him before her neck gave out and dropped her head with a loud thud. The impact of her head on the tile floor sent a sharp pain through her skull.

He was close enough that if she’d been in top condition, he’d have a defined nose and eyes. But she couldn’t find his eyes.

The boy was kneeling beside her, and he opened his mouth to say something, but it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t hear him.

Out of all of the thoughts on her mind, she could only find one to voice.

“Well, I definitely won’t be at school tomorrow.”  _Not that I was planning to be anyway._


End file.
